He was now thoroughly lost in no-man’s-land. Janice had invited him to be her escort for the landmark occasion of her first full-time position since her divorce. Now here she was grillinghim about his feelings for another woman. Even an undersocialized ex-priest understood that this was a lose-lose situation.
Janice laughed. “It’s okay. The real world is filled with the echoes of unfinished symphonies. I’m just saying you couldn’t find two more opposite women than she and I.”
Matt silently objected. Lt. Molina and Temple were even greater opposites, but he didn’t intend to inject Carmen Molina into this mess.
“You think it’s odd,” he ventured, “that I could like two such different … people.”
“Fudger!” Janice laughed again, then put her hand on his forearm, a comforting gesture. She wore one ring on her second
finger: a sherry-colored citrine in sterling silver with gilt accents. “It’s okay. I’m just glad that awful woman who stalked you is out of the picture. I can handle adorable, but I cannot cope with psychotic.”
“Funny; I’m the other way around.”
“That’s because you’re a counselor,” Janice said. “Speaking of psychotic, did I fill you in on the corporate dynamics around this place?”
Matt gazed at the softly lit vignettes of perfect rooms, the ambling magazine-chic couples clutching wineglasses. “They sell furniture. What corporate dynamics?”
“Very odd.” She leaned in, leaving her hand on his arm, whispering. Matt smelled something light and elusive, like very pleasant soap. “That’s what I thought. Selling furniture. Not a noble profession, but a necessary one.”
“Who’s arguing?”
“Well, our esteemed manager, for one. Did you see a pudgy, red-faced man in a wrinkled oatmeal linen suit scurrying around?”
“Yeah. He’s the manager?”
“The one and only Mark Ainsworth. When we got our final pep talk before opening, Kenny Maylord himself addressed us en masse. He said what a fabulous group of designers and sales associates this was. Well, they should be; they all jumped ship from the other major furniture showrooms in town. Anyway, it was all about how great we are. Then he left and pigeon-toed Ainsworth took over and stood up in front of God and everybody and said, get this, ‘In three months half of you will be gone.’
We’re all still blinking at that one.”
“Gone? Like … let go?”
“That’s what he said.”
“In three months? After paying you all for six weeks of training? Doesn’t make sense.”
“No. I had a strong impression of good cop/bad cop being played on the discount mattress front.”
“Discount mattress?”
“Don’t let all the fancy furniture fool you; the real duel for home furnishing power in Las Vegas is over mattress sales. Figures. Everybody’s got to have them and they need periodic replacement. Plus the markup is retail heaven. Not to mention the psychosexual implications.”
“Mattresses?’ He had noticed a low-lit area off to one side furnished with naked box springs and tufted brocaded mattresses but it hardly seemed the glamour part of the showroom. That was reserved for the parade of lavishly accoutered room arrangements that fanned off the central courtyard.
The centerpiece of that courtyard right now was a vivid burnt-orange Nissan Murano SUV, the object of a prize drawing.
Somehow mattresses seemed way out of its league.
“Guess how I spent my day getting ready for this do?” Janice asked.
“Hanging pictures?”
“Hell, no. All the pictures I hung were taken down and rearranged by some self-important babe from Accessories. I spent the day on my back-”
“Janice! This place isn’t that bad-?”
“On my back under the frigging mattresses writing down stock numbers as all good little Maylords workers had been directed to do, while Missy Modern Art Museum was flitting about whipping display guys into undoing everything I’d done:’ “I can’t believe it.”
“Welcome to the working world. I’d forgotten about office politics.”
Matt was about to go into a sincere riff about how superior Janice’s artistic instincts were when a figure suddenly appeared before them.
She was a tall woman with dark hair, like Molina, but unlike Molina her hair brushed her shoulders in soft, Miss Muffet curls. She was willowy to the point of scrawniness. Her face was pale and the expression on it was stern and supercilious at the same time. “People, please! No fraternizing between staff. We’re supposed to mix with guests.”
“He’s a customer,” Janice answered.
“Janice, please.” The laugh was short and denigrating. “We don’t have ‘customers,’ we have ‘clients.’ I know it’s hard for a former full-time wife like you to know the difference, especially after your mall work-”
“Mr. Devine is not on staff. He’s a potential client.”
The woman frowned at him, displaying impressively deep vertical tracks between her brow for someone in her late twenties.
“You’re not on staff?” She eyed him with sudden smarm. “Well. I’m Beth Blanchard, and if I can direct you to any department or sales associate-?” she suggested with sudden and unbelievable sweetness.
“She’ll get fifty percent of the commission for that,” Janice said, “and I won’t.”
“Well.” Beth Blanchard laughed in an unconvincing manner and shrugged her sharp shoulders. “You always have a choice at Maylords, and that includes in sales associates.”
Janice put her hand through Matt’s arm. “If Mr. Devine wants to buy something, I’ll be happy to sell it to him all by myself?’
“Uuuh’ Beth’s face twisted into irritation again. “We do not ‘sell’ anything at Maylords. Haven’t you learned a thing on probation?”
Matt decided to speak up. “I suppose you give it away, then,” he said pleasantly. “Most impressive.” “We ‘place’ pieces with clients. We don’t sell furniture.” “Will I have to sign adoption papers?” he asked.
She glared at Janice, then turned and flounced away, which she could do because she was dressed in fashionably
fluttering floral chiffon, as tattered as Cinderella rags.
“That woman acts like she’s queen bitch at the ball,” Janice said under her breath. “See what I mean about this place? It’s schizy. We’re supposed to be the best and brightest new staff Maylords has ever had, according to Kenny Maylord himself, but the minute he vanishes-and he does because the main store is in Indianapolis, with another in Palm Beach-the Wicked Witch and her Hying Monkeys come out to shake the stuffing out of us.”
“I don’t get all this fuss about the word ‘sell.”
“
“They never use the word ‘sale’ in their ads. It’s all part of the upscale impression Maylords wants to make. They’d planned to donate twenty thousand dollars to the local arts fund, but nobody is objecting to this ignorant woman running around and undoing all my art placements. I did do sketches and caricatures in the mall, but I know what people like and how to present it to sell well. She hasn’t got a clue, but she tells me I’m not doing my job right, like she was somebody big’s bimbo mistress.”
“Maybe she is.”
Janice sighed. “Sony, Matt. I didn’t mean to dump my workplace woes on you. This was supposed to be a party.”
“It is. Let’s hit the buffet table again. Temple got Chef Song from the Crystal Phoenix to do the food.”
“That’s spectacular,” Janice agreed. “And I didn’t see bitchy Beth Blanchard hanging around the tables rearranging his parsley sprigs.”
“Chef Song would have taken his meat cleaver to her for that. On several occasions I understand that he’s almost de—
whiskered the former hotel cat, Midnight Louie, for taking liberties with the koi in his special pond.”
Janice was staring into the crowd that had swallowed Beth Blanchard, invisible pointed black hat and all.
“I hope somebody does take at least a mat cutter to her,” Janice said. “I suppose I’ve ‘goofed off’ enough. We’re actually on salary here. The witch has already berated me for notpunching my time card tonight. I thought, like with museum openings, staff attended the ceremonials as part of their jobs, without pay, but, no, it’s all on the time clock. Mind if I desert you to troll for clients who may want to … uh, can I say `buy’ … something?”